


she flickered like a flame in the light of a dying sun (and who better than a monster to watch beauty burn?)

by geckosandstarks



Series: Bellarke drabbles [4]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Reaper!Bellamy, UGLY SOBBING, Why Did I Write This?, why
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-01
Updated: 2015-02-01
Packaged: 2018-03-09 22:17:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3266357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geckosandstarks/pseuds/geckosandstarks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>she never stood a chance, really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	she flickered like a flame in the light of a dying sun (and who better than a monster to watch beauty burn?)

He only saw the blood.

The glinting steel had only nicked her tender skin, but already it began to trickle down her face, leaving a red staining in its wake _(notmenotmenotmecan’tseecan’tseecan’tsee)._ Hungry eyes followed the movement, a feral heart beating in time to her quick, panic gasps of breath, the forest green shuddering, shrouding around them.

She spoke, words closing around them and her desperate eyes screaming for a hope of something long dead (his blackened heart like ashes now). She flickered like a flame in the light of a dying sun, and who better than a monster to watch beauty burn? It was easy to see in her loose grasp on the gun in her trembling fingers that she couldn’t use it, even if she intended to. She was unprepared, weak, and efficiently unarmed.

She was perfect.

_(freeindeathbutdeathcomeslate)_

He hurls his body towards her, not expecting of her sudden twist that leaves her just out of his clawing reach. He screams into the starless night, and turns so suddenly that she has no time to gracefully skip out of his way, and is met the sudden agony with his tan fist against her stomach, and it feels as though he has reached inside her to tug at the string that keeps her together, already weak, it tears, shredding through her sanity.

The tears leak down her blood crusted cheeks, and her eyes so startlingly blue blink up at him, and it is all he can do to slam the axe down into her light of golden hair and eyes of sea and lips of blood.

_(lovethatbindsislovethatkills)_

She’s so _quick,_ a flash of blue before she’s gone, floating into the embrace of the forest and the call of dusk. But he _pines_ for the taste of her against his ravaged lips, _yearns_ for the thrill of hunting his prey into the dark crevices of setting day, so he sets off after her somewhat limping figure, his able body covering the distances flat.

He tears through the undergrowth with a smirk in place, searching for his golden prey, but through the thickness of the forest, he only sees the green upon dirtied soil – no blue to be found.

But he _smells_ her.

The blood overwhelms, thick and coating of anything else, hiding of her underneath, and for a second, it dizzies him, secludes him in a state of starved desire, and wishes for nothing, _nothing,_ but her body surrendered to him.

_(fightitfightit f i g h t i t)_

He pretends for a moment he does not see the flash of blinding yellow that shudders behind thick bark, or hear the deafening snap of a twig underneath solid boots. He acts, for a moment, as though he is taking a leisurely walk in the woods, moments before darting forward and snatching at the girls hair, yanking her towards him.

She screams (they always do), and pushes against him, tiny fists beating against his hardened chest, and for a second, he thinks he almost _admires_ the resilience in her eyes, and then something _claws_ at him as she meets his eyes once more, and he is frozen in a fractured moment, and captured by her gaze that refuses to relent.

His grasp on the axe in hand tightens, as she leans towards him slightly. Something of a breathy moan tumbles helplessly from her reddened lips, as she leans to meet his lips.

_(clarkeclarkeclARKE)_

He feels _fear_ and it is cold and its arms close around him like a cage and it is because her lips bite at his he knows _he knows_ and so it is with a single push, that the grinning steel slices into her stomach.

She chokes against his lips, clutching to his shoulders tightly before slumping against him and falling at his feet.

He looks down, confused and-

_“Taking a walk in the woods, princess?”_

_“I need you, Bellamy. We all need you.”_

  _“Brave princess.”_

_“I can’t lose you too, okay?”_

Bellamy stumbled, clutching at his head as the memories roared into life, screaming painfully against his skull. Then, he does worst thing he could do at that moment.

He looks down.

She is pale, so very pale, a slither of moonlight to accompany the dying light, and the red blossoms dutifully against her stomach, the ground dripping scarlet. And if he could, at that very moment, Bellamy would sink his feet into the mounds of the earth and let it swallow him whole, falling beneath the plates and soil, and tumbling into oblivion, and scream into a void, if it meant that he did not have to watch his princess die.

He sinks to his knees, bringing her body in his lap.

“No no no no no please, Clarke, I need you, you can’t leave me, you _can’t leave me.”_ Her head turns only slightly in his lap, her eyes dying and a gentle smile only nearly there, her cold hand reaching to skim his rough jaw, catching at the tears that leak from the weakness in his heart, her gaze so warm, but her body so cold.

“It wasn’t worth the risk.” She whispers so softly, too softly. She smiles, and it’s so final and fatal, that he’s shaking his head, whispering her name and clutching at her body even before her eyes shutter close and her limp hand falls away from his burning skin.

“No, NO! CLARKE, NO, PLEASE!” He’s screaming now, pleading with a god he doesn’t believe in, and clutching at her hand to bring it once again to his skin. It’s not the same – her arm only falls when he doesn’t hold it there, and she’s so _cold_ that he tears away his furs to wrap them around her instead.

The forest is silent as he sobs, as he screams her name into the stars that drift into the sky, and as he mutters his apologies over and over again until the words seem to be without, lacking of this horrible _guilt_ that pulls and tears and _beats a_ t him.

His voice falters eventually, broken like the rest of him as he screams for her to return to his wanting embrace, body curled around hers.

They’ll come soon, and they’ll try to take her body, they’ll try to pry his hands away from her, and tell him he needs to let her go, and he’ll scream at them that’s she’s not dead and he’ll beat at the hands of anyone that gets too close. Then Octavia will come, and she’ll cry, and she’ll tell him the same as they did, and he’ll show her that he _can’t,_ and how could they expect him too? And he’ll mourn and mourn and mourn, and in the end, he truly was a monster, that watched beauty burn.

 


End file.
